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When did she stop? When was the last time she pushed her feet off the ground on a chilly Monday morning? When was the last time she reached for her paintbrush instead of brushing dust off them? When did those things stop having meaning? Julia buried herself so deep within her work, so deep in something she felt had meaning, that she wasn’t sure what the meaning of her own happiness was anymore.
“It’s not sad! Well,” she teased, “just a little.”
“I know, I know!” Julia threw her pink hands up in defeat. “I have to get out more. I swear, the only fun I ever have is when Keegan comes over for our weekly Sunday sports night.”
“Keegan?”
“Keegan Marrow. You met her at Kleinton earlier,” Julia explained. “She was the one who opened our faculty meeting updates.”
“Oh! Do you two often hang out outside of school?”
“All the time. She’s my assistant, but is also a really great friend.”
“She seemed really nice.”
They turned the corner, retracing their steps back to where their cars were parked. Julia refused to count how many times they circled the same four blocks.
“She is! I think you’d definitely like her. She’d be a great resource for you to rely on during your time here.” Julia paused, slowing her stride. “I almost forgot: she’ll probably be reaching out to you this weekend to carve out a time to meet Monday morning to review your schedule.”
“Not a worry at all. I’d be happy to connect with her.”
They both walked a little further, matching each other’s slowing pace. Their arms bumped a few more times than coincidence could account for. Julia looked up from tracing the snow and salt covered lines in the concrete sidewalk and caught Erin looking back at her.
“What did you do for fun?“ she asked, her voice filled with quiet curiosity. It’s like she knew her. It’s like she saw past every blockade Julia built, like she could pull each layer of paper mache apart to find what actually laid beneath it all.
“I used to paint,” Julia said solemnly. “I used to write in college. Not just for academic papers. Kind of like poetry? But not really. Just for fun.”
“Why don’t you anymore?”
“I could lie and say I’m too busy,” Julia sighed, surprised she said that aloud too, “but I don’t really have an answer. I think at some point I stopped having things I wanted to paint or write about.”
A gust of wind blew over them both in an icy swirl. It swept up shimmering snowflakes from the rooftops above, throwing them into the air like a cascade of sparkling raindrops that landed on their hair.
When Erin didn’t say anything immediately, Julia felt like she shared too much. She didn’t know how to stop wanting to tell her everything.
“What do you do for fun?” Julia asked.
“Now that,” she grinned, “you’ll definitely pick on me for!”
“Keegan and I have a saying: listen now, laugh later.”
“Deal.” Erin smiled to herself and then looked back up at Julia. “I scrapbook.”
“Scrapbook?” Julia asked, just to be sure she heard her right. “Like little old ladies sitting around a table on a Wednesday morning, picking out pictures of their grandbabies to glue next to felt flowers?”
“Hey!” Erin chuckled, “you said you would listen first and laugh later! Not the other way around!”
“I’m sorry.” Julia couldn’t stop the chuckle in the back of her throat as she held up her hands in surrender.
“But yes, kind of. Except I scrapbook by myself with a glass of white wine.”
“That actually sounds nice.”
“It is.”
“Do you do it often?”
“Not as often as I used to,” Erin confessed, longing obvious in her eyes.
